” “How does she become an Oracle, Sebastian? What is the recipe?” She asked, no longer playing innocent. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. The Becks as a 187 family didn’t talk or ruminate over Mike’s or Lucy’s past much.
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